


Intrepid

by quietcactus



Series: Lodestone [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietcactus/pseuds/quietcactus
Summary: “I know you,” Kageyama stated as if it were the simplest truth—perhaps it was. Tsukishima bit his lip nervously.“What if I said I wasn’t fine?”“Well, if you aren’t fine, then I’ll help you,” Kageyama said. “And if you’rereallynot fine, then I’ll drop you off at Yamaguchi’s doorstep and make you someone else’s problem.”“My hero,” Tsukishima deadpanned but still pressed a kiss to the pulse in Kageyama’s wrist.Or, a coda where falling helps you learn how to stand.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: Lodestone [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655563
Comments: 24
Kudos: 184





	Intrepid

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that there are some minor spoilers for the beginning of Season 4, mostly for setting and context. You do not have to have watched it before reading this, but it certainly helps.

If the doors of the gym could ever come unhinged, it would be due to the way Takeda seemed incapable of clearing the steps without losing a shoe in the process. He stumbled into the gym, exhales blustery in the way he got when overly excited. The team startled at his entrance; he usually only had good news when he tripped in like he was jumping out of a moving train.

An invitation to a prestigious training camp for Japan’s elite youth certainly counted. 

Tsukishima could recall the way Kageyama’s expression opened, how uncharacteristically vulnerable he was knowing someone validated that for which he’d so tirelessly strived. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be jealous—if anyone deserved such recognition, it was certainly him. When Kageyama sought his gaze in the gym, eyes still wide in disbelief, Tsukishima just nodded in affirmation. _Yes, this is real. Yes, you’re that good._

But before conversation could derail, Takeda fortified himself with a deep breath and relayed another piece of news: Kageyama wasn’t the only one with a special invitation. 

Tsukishima blushed with the force of everyone’s eyes on him. He felt hands clapping him on his back, a faint white noise, and he was helpless but to anchor himself on Kageyama, who somehow didn’t look as surprised as the rest. Kageyama gave him a nod in return. 

Someone, somewhere, had looked at Tsukishima and thought _I want to see more of him._ He didn’t think he was being self-deprecating when he confessed to Yamaguchi afterward that it must have been a mistake, that surely stuffing one of Ushijima’s spikes alone wasn’t worthy of an invitation. Tsukishima wasn’t a demonstrative person; all his best work was sight unseen. He was just a lanky, bespectacled boy with salt on his lips. So what if he had an analytical mind or strived to be ruled by logic, that he’d developed a keen sense of timing for blocks. Anyone could reasonably do that. He _perhaps_ was better than average but he was by no means notable. Rememberable. Yamaguchi had rolled his eyes at this, punched him a little too hard in the arm, and _I don’t even have time for this, Tsukki._ Tsukishima at least knew enough to not bring it up again. 

When Tsukishima’s mother welcomed him home after that long day of practice, he found himself spilling his secret before he could return the greeting. As his mother exclaimed in delight, Tsukishima looked down at his shaking fingers and realized he was _excited._ To his utter lack of surprise, Akiteru came bounding down the stairs—sometimes Tsukishima wondered if he actually had an apartment in town—asking about the commotion. Before Tsukishima could open his mouth, she was already moving toward Akiteru, grasping his hands and sharing his news. And though it wasn’t something Tsukishima told himself he needed, he couldn’t help smiling when Akiteru turned to him with such pride as if the invitation were his own. 

Days passed quicker than he could grasp and it wasn’t long until Tsukishima officially survived his first day of Miyagi’s prefectural training camp, surrounded by boys he mostly knew and very few he tolerated. He wasn’t entirely convinced it was even happening. When he thought of receiving an invitation to such a training opportunity, his mind veered toward players like Kageyama and Nishinoya, both of whom were considered preternaturally skilled in their positions. If he were truly being honest, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Hinata were invited instead of him. Someone who was ready to grab a chance and sink his teeth into it. 

He stood alone near the edge of Shiratorizawa’s campus. The sky was unfurling in shadow, save for streetlights aglow with a velvet sheen. His nose and ears burned from the cold, but when he burrowed into his scarf, his glasses fogged. He supposed he wasn’t missing anything regardless. Curling in on himself did little to abate the winter chill, feeling it seep and settle into his joints. His right hand especially ached. Even though his current circumstance was of his own making, he still resented it. All that kept him company were his thoughts and Hinata’s stupid bike. 

He glared at the bike. The bike was as oblivious as its owner. 

He almost couldn’t believe that Hinata had crashed the Miyagi training camp, but it was _Hinata_ and only he could be brash enough to do it. Tsukishima thought it came less from bravery and more from some kind of hindbrain impulse. Hinata was all crackling synapses firing too quickly for deep reflection. In any other person, Tsukishima would have read it as extremely disrespectful; to an extent, it certainly was. Just because he didn’t intend to incite chaos didn’t mean he wasn’t responsible for ensuing repercussions. Hinata saw the camp as a means of staying apace with Kageyama and his rivals. Others could see it as believing he was above censure, that he was somehow more deserving because of his actions. But Tsukishima thought of Yamaguchi, how he would have given an arm for an invitation but instead stayed with the team and gained a different type of valuable experience because he wasn’t as _fucking stupid as Hinata—_

Yet here he was, rubbing gloved fingers together in his jacket pockets to generate what meager heat he could into them. He shifted from one foot to the other, dithering on next steps. The longer he waited for Hinata, the less sure he felt of his decision. He looked down at the bike and pictured Hinata still trekking up that mountain in frigid temps. The petty part of him hoped it was a wretched journey back, but he was drained enough that he could only request the universe give him something annoying like mild windburn. 

Tsukishima poked his head out of his scarf-nest when he heard a faint crunch of sneakers on asphalt from behind. Hinata looked up at him wide-eyed and incredulous. Tsukishima could also admit he wasn’t sure what he was doing.

“What are you doing here?” Hinata asked, voice tinged with what Tsukishima felt was an unreasonable amount of suspicion. Between his shock of red hair and face flushed from the cold, Hinata was a stark pop of color against a dreary backdrop. 

“Waiting for you, it seems,” Tsukishima replied, hating that it was honest. Hinata squinted at him unconvinced. “So. Ball boy. Really? You’re coming back for _that?”_

Hinata was a bristling orange tabby cat. “What choice do I have?” It was edged with enough desperation that Tsukishima fell silent. Maybe Hinata _was_ aware of what he’d done, the weight of that decision. The quiet was too thick and Tsukishima was losing feeling in his fingers but Hinata looked close to tears. 

Tsukishima tensed his shoulders. “You heading home?” 

Hinata wilted, looking as world-weary as Tsukishima had ever seen him. “Not yet, I have to talk to Coach first.” 

He couldn’t help a sharp laugh. “He’s going to ream you out.” 

“I know,” Hinata whispered. 

“Just wait until Daichi finds out.” 

Hinata squeaked. “Oh my god, I forgot about him.” Whispered words tapered off again. 

Tsukishima was wading in uncharted waters. Of all his compatriots, he knew what to do with Hinata the least. Hinata grated on his nerves with his simplistic approach to life and unbounding energy. Tsukishima mostly begrudged how much he wanted to be _better_ in front of him, how being around him was never boring. 

However, Tsukishima could now admit that he _wanted_ to get better and he _had_ gotten better and he was a dick but he’d be damned if he eventually became less mature than Hinata. There was truly no worse fate. A little more quietly to himself, he could acknowledge that Hinata was also his boyfriend’s best friend and volleyball aside, he supposed that meant something. 

Tsukishima got tired of staring at the ground. “Well, it’s cold, so I’m going to go.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“You—are you coming back tomorrow?” He actually wasn’t sure what the answer to that was. 

“I think so,” Hinata confessed. “I’m not sure. I guess I have a lot of people to talk to first.” 

Tsukishima worried they were teetering towards a heart-to-heart and he just couldn’t, he was just so _tired,_ tired from the cold and grueling practice and insecurity that consumed him when surrounded by peers who were undoubtedly better than him. 

“Let me know when you get home,” Tsukishima said. 

“Why?” 

He focused his gaze on the bike. “I’ll text you the itinerary for camp. Even if you’re just standing around, at least you’ll know when and where to show up.” 

Hinata didn’t reply, which rankled. He was trying here. But when Tsukishima blinked past foggy lenses, he realized he hadn’t seen this look from Hinata before, unsure but also grateful, like being handed a gift without a card. Hinata gave him a thumbs up. Tsukishima rolled his eyes but hummed in acknowledgement. At the end of the day, they were, after all, teammates. 

“See you tomorrow, Tsukishima.” 

“I’ll see your ghost if Daichi finds you first.” 

But alas, Hinata was still long for this world because he was at Shiratorizawa’s gym before him the next day. In an alternate universe, Tsukishima would have died from secondhand embarrassment at being seen next to Hinata. He would have locked his gaze forward, pretended that he didn’t exist, ignored him at every possible turn. Hinata would invite him to train and he’d decline without hesitation. They wouldn’t be teammates and he would seethe by the sidelines, hating the ease with which Hinata navigated difficult situations. He would hate how inadequate he felt next to the others and further embed the fear that Shiratorizawa’s coach had made a mistake, that maybe they invited someone else and Tsukishima had accidentally stumbled in.

Instead, Tsukishima caught Hinata’s eye when the others eased into stretching, falling into rhythms they all knew by rote. Tsukishima tilted his chin, an unspoken gesture to come over. Hinata glanced about, then gently put down a pile of towels and scurried over to him. He looked uncertain if he should be standing that close to those loosening their limbs. Tsukishima resumed stretching, giving Hinata a pointed onceover until he joined him. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be stretching with you,” Hinata murmured. 

Tsukishima looked to the other side of the gym where the coaches were scratching at notebooks. “Don’t make their decision for them. Warm up with us until they tell you otherwise. Unless—” Tsukishima gave him a slower look, “You feel your skill level is limited to folding towels over there.” 

“Shut up,” Hinata snipped, but he easily bent his leg into a quad stretch. He was wearing kneepads as if he’d have the opportunity to partake in something more adventurous than washing practice jerseys. 

They were almost five minutes into it when the assistant coach wandered by, staring at Hinata a beat too long. “I think the other boys would appreciate your help filling water bottles.” It wasn’t said unkindly but it wasn’t a suggestion. Hinata hesitated, then gave the coach a deferential nod before jogging back to the other ball boys. Tsukishima resumed twisting his torso back and forth, ignoring the look sent his way. He wondered if Kageyama was doing the same off in Tokyo. 

Tsukishima and Kageyama weren’t especially keen on texting all the time, in part because they saw each other most days. If they weren’t at practice, they were holed up in a café, tutoring or quietly catching up on whatever struck their fancy. Kageyama still sent him photos of neighborhood cats from afar and Tsukishima would respond with a picture of himself holding a cat, but they didn’t text much in the way of _feelings_ or how their days went—if it was that important, they would have already discussed it in person. Tsukishima also anticipated that Kageyama would be tunnel-visioned about his own training camp, partly from sheer concentration and partly from, what he suspected, was some degree of his own anxiety about the process. It was one thing to be heralded as a genius on your own team, but it was a whole other thing to be surrounded by geniuses from _all_ teams. Tsukishima generally took no offense to radio silence, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally check his phone during breaks. 

They were a few days in when Tsukishima finally got a text from Kageyama, one which was a little puzzling for its lack of context. 

_> > What’s a goody two shoes?_

_< < What?_

Kageyama hadn’t responded right away, most likely pulled into another activity, but the thought sat on Tsukishima’s back burner. Tsukishima wasn’t sure who said that to Kageyama, whether they were referring to another player or himself. He had a hard time believing it was about Kageyama, who was many things, but not necessarily as eager to please as someone like Yachi. 

Shortly after Tsukishima saw Hinata off at training that night, his phone buzzed. He fumbled it out of his pocket, his soft gloves slipping on the screen. 

_> > Someone called me that. They explained it later but it isn’t sitting right_

He had to pry a glove off with his teeth to thumb a response.

_< < Huh. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. How’d they say it?_

_> > Didn’t sound like a compliment_

Tsukishima wondered who was singling out Kageyama. He wondered if things were handled differently at the top tier, boys trying to edge the others out to better shine themselves. 

_< < Whatever, ignore him. I already know what a terrible person you are._

_> > Fuck off_

He smiled, coughing to loosen whatever was fluttering around his chest. He hummed along to the current song pulsing through his headphones, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder. He hesitated, then brought his phone back out of his pocket but pulled up Hinata’s contact instead. 

_< < Hey. Is Kageyama texting you?_

He was nearly home when his phone went off. 

_> > no hes being a loser and ignoring me!_

_< < So the usual then._

_> > did you want something? >:(_

Tsukishima wasn’t quite worried about Kageyama, but maybe that comment didn’t mean anything if Hinata wasn’t told about it. 

_< < Bring something to eat after practice tomorrow, you’re annoying when you’re hungry._

_> > .gif of someone flipping a table_

That sounded about right, but he felt he’d covered his bases for the evening. If the following day at practice he saw Hinata grab a granola bar out of his bag, he wouldn’t call attention to it. 

Tsukishima was standing on the sidelines, watching a two-v-two match finish before he was up again. His right side ached something fierce. He’d been paired up with Koganegawa for the last couple bouts and he had a frustrating style of setting. Tsukishima realized he’d been spoiled with a setter like Kageyama, who could be a stiff human but had a flawlessly graceful means of setting. Koganegawa, conversely, with bright eyes and enthusiasm, assumed everyone was as tall as he was, that his towering height meant his sets should be just as high. Even though they were both still learning, Tsukishima flushed from embarrassment the first couple of rounds when he kept whiffing his spikes, long fingers just kissing the ball. _You have to set to where I am,_ Tsukishima requested early on. Koganegawa readily agreed, nodding vigorously, and then continued to set too high for his comfort. Tsukishima didn’t want to seem like a complainer, not when he was painfully on display in front of these coaches and peers. In no way did he want to manifest his insecurities for all to see, that this invitation was wasted on him, that besting Shiratorizawa was a fluke. So he kicked against the court harder, stretched his right arm to its limit until his obliques screamed, slamming the ball with all the force his gangly limbs could manage. His saving grace was all the training he’d been enduring with Kageyama, that all that weight work and running was keeping him from collapsing like an old man. He was dying inside, but so long as others couldn’t tell, he could leave this plane of existence in peace. 

He felt a nudge of plastic against his elbow, then looked down to see Hinata blindly pass a water bottle to his hand. His eyes were locked on the match in front of them, but his eyes were downcast. He had more water bottles haphazardly cradled in his arms, but he seemed to have forgotten the task at hand. Hinata had one of those unnerving stares, the kind Tsukishima only saw when he was dissecting opponents. 

Tsukishima couldn’t help leaning in slightly to keep his voice pitched low. “What are you looking at?” He clicked his tongue at himself, supposing it was an inane question, but Hinata didn’t seem to take it as such. 

“I’m looking at their feet.” Okay, maybe that was an inane response. 

He zeroed in on their feet, worn sneakers in varying shades of off-white, squeaking as the balls of their feet pushed against hardwood. He wasn’t sure what he was missing. 

“I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Tsukishima muttered, embarrassed at himself, “But what are their feet doing?” Hinata thankfully remained entranced by these beaten-up shoes. 

“It’s a—a thing with their feet. A skip but not really? It’s not a pivot but a—a _fwwt,_ you know?” Hinata tried to orchestrate his intent with his hands but in the process dropped half his bottles and had to crouch down to prevent them from rolling into the court.

“I can’t even—” Tsukishima muttered, straightening when he was called in. He managed to forget about the conversation until Hinata surprised him with a text that night. 

_> > its a split step_

Tsukishima waited a couple beats, but there was no follow-up, no triplet of dots below to indicate further typing. He searched for the term online and his browser filled with images of tennis players, detailing the small hop to reset their stance to react more quickly to sideways movement. _Oh, this is actually legitimate,_ he thought, reluctantly impressed Hinata knew something meaningful. He should give Hinata credit for the idea, for the research, but that was also too generous of him. 

_< < Noted._

If he scoured the internet for further research on the topic, no one needed to know. The following day, he was acutely aware of how Hinata was eager to catch balls, to _receive_ them, and how he could manage to practice so much in a training that wasn’t his own and _my god, I’m envious of Hinata’s athleticism._ He was on the sidelines again, though he would be paired with Goshiki this time. His stomach churned, a genuine desire to better himself warring with any perceived failure but— 

_If not now, when?_

He stood further back, Goshiki up and to his left when Kunimi served. The ball swerved off to his right but within their painted box—an opportune moment. Without overthinking it, Tsukishima tried to push off with his left foot—and immediately stumbled over his right, tripping down to one knee. The ball harmlessly plopped against the court and rolled away—a service ace. 

“Are you kidding me?” Goshiki snarled. Shiratorizawa’s first-year had little patience for anything less than Ushijima-standard perfection. Tsukishima could hear others snickering behind him, could feel Shiratorizawa’s coach boring steely regard into his spine. The meat of his palm burned, his cheeks even more so. He clenched his right hand to sharpen the pain, give himself a focus other than what was around him until he heard a gentle _thud-thud-thud_ of someone trotting up. 

“Almost!” Hinata whispered, giving him a thumbs up as he jogged over to drop the ball into a basket. He hated that someone felt the need to comfort him. And also, it gave him courage to try it again. And _again._

There was a point where his embarrassment became so great that it shorted some fuse in him, where he just didn’t care anymore what he looked like because he was so consistently, astoundingly terrible. He already must have come across so pitifully that shy of curling into a fetal position for all to see, there wasn’t much he could do to worsen his image. He was probably affirming any doubt in the coach’s minds that inviting him was a mistake. He only had today left though, so he could leave their disappointment at the door soon enough—this was the mantra that ran on repeat in his head.

Goshiki was about ready to strangle him. “I’m sorry, are you just out of fucks to give?”

But Tsukishima could only offer a vague hand gesture. “My field of fucks is barren.”

There was little fanfare when they lined up a final time in front of their coaches, listening to words of encouragement and entreaties to further push themselves and bring honor to their region. They started scattering to the wind, teammates from the same schools clustering, some laughing, some exchanging phone numbers. He turned to follow Hinata when a firm hand gripped his elbow. He was prepared with some side-eye until realizing it was Shiratorizawa’s coach. He schooled his face into something more respectful. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing.” His voice was a craggy rumble. Tsukishima supposed it was a kindness for their coach to wait until they were dispersing to share his grievance, to let him explicitly know how incompetent he must have been.

“Sir?” 

He was trapped in that heavy-lidded gaze, suddenly very much feeling like prey. “Keep up the footwork, it’ll become more natural with time and practice. You’re still growing so don’t slack off on making adjustments, not just to your feet but maintaining good form when spiking.” He paused, checking him over from feet to face. “You were invited here for a reason. Don’t waste it.” He ended with a sharp nod and promptly turned away and left, his footsteps barely noticeable as he came up to surprise another boy with instructions. 

Tsukishima was rooted to the ground, breath short in his chest. He must’ve dreamt it, was having difficulty reconciling what he’d just heard, until Hinata popped back into his vision, slightly pouting. There was never a good dream with Hinata involved.

“What are you doing, you can’t stay here forever,” Hinata asked. Tsukishima was very slowly learning to discern when Hinata was being blankly sincere and actually, slightly teasing. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Tsukishima muttered. 

He was gearing up to leave, still wildly calibrating this new information, when Goshiki made angry, purposeful strides in their direction. 

“I can’t stand the sight of either of you,” Goshiki snapped, “But if you lose your first match, I’ll come find you and kill you myself, you hear me?” 

“You won’t be disappointed,” Hinata said, his voice firm and quiet. Serious. Tsukishima tried not to roll his eyes.

“Well, you _might_ be disappointed,” Tsukishima interjected, “I mean, you’ll have to watch us from the sidelines because your team already lost—” 

“What—” 

“You can file a complaint once your team gets back from Nationals—oh wait, that’s right—” 

_“Are you fucking—”_

“We’re cool, we’re cool!” Hinata jumped in, whipping his head back and forth between them. “Tsukishima, quit being a jerk. Goshiki—” He floundered for a second, flopping his hands in a conciliatory manner. “We’re not gonna lose, okay?” Hinata took a deeper breath, let it whoosh from his lungs. “We came here to win and that’s what we’re going to do. 

“We’ll make Miyagi proud.” 

Goshiki looked somewhat mollified, pointedly focusing on Hinata alone. “You better.” 

Once Goshiki was out of earshot, Hinata slapped him on the arm. “Why the heck are you like this?” 

“Someone has to balance out your optimism.” 

“Man, I pick some of the weirdest rivals,” Hinata grumbled, but he didn’t look put out. Tsukishima waited until Hinata’s back was to him before he allowed a sharp grin. 

As the two of them left the gym, it really hit him—they were going to Nationals. _They were going to Nationals._ All of Miyagi could be watching them because Karasuno beat them all. And Tsukishima was a piece of shit, but he was a piece of shit who people were starting to be wary of and how did he not realize earlier that he was finally in a place to meld two of the things he loved most: volleyball and nettling people. 

Well, nettling some people. Some people had the audacity to think he was _soft_ and despite his best attempts could not dissuade them. One such person was waiting for him at their fork in the road, face partially hidden by a scarf, eyes inscrutable. Kageyama seemed borne from the night, a specter with dark eyes and whisper-soft hair, subdued in the gentlest ways. Kageyama’s face didn’t change much but something softened around his eyes as Tsukishima neared. 

“You’re late,” Kageyama said. 

“You’re early,” Tsukishima replied. “I thought I’d be the one waiting. I’m surprised you’re here already.” 

Kageyama shrugged because there wasn’t really an answer to that. Tsukishima didn’t have particular expectations about this meetup except to see each other after a week’s absence, maybe get some sense of what Kageyama had gone through. He knew he wasn’t always forthcoming when articulating his thoughts. 

Tsukishima sucked in sharp breath, then held his hands out, wiggling his fingers to draw Kageyama’s attention. “I’m cold, help me,” Tsukishima said, trying to ease tension he wasn’t expecting. 

Kageyama sighed but obligingly took his hands, their shared exhales fogging between them. Tsukishima gave his hands an affectionate squeeze. 

“So, are you ready for the Olympics?” Tsukishima asked. 

It looked as if Kageyama was going to reply, then thought better of himself. He just sighed, shaking his head mutely. “I thought I knew who I was going into it, but now I’m not sure.” 

Tsukishima quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “That could be a good thing, to an extent. It means you learned something, right?”

“How?” 

“Well, because it means you were challenged in a way that we haven’t been able to provide.” 

“I like our team,” Kageyama said, mouth turned down in a moue of disappointment. 

He clicked his tongue in admonishment. “You don’t need to get defensive, we’re on the same team. But you have to admit, we’re not on your level.”

Kageyama gripped his hands tighter. “You know I don’t like it when you talk about me like that.” His tone was too sharp. This was supposed to be an easy touch base, soft and quiet. He resisted the urge to shuffle. 

“Okay,” Tsukishima said. “Did you actually a bad time? Is that why—” 

“Why what?” Kageyama interrupted. 

He changed tactics. “What was it like meeting rivals from across the country? Others who were—” _Of your caliber_ “—Focusing on the same goals as you?” He rocked back on his heels, then made a concerted effort to stop fidgeting. 

“It was good,” Kageyama admitted, fingers flexing under Tsukishima’s. “The talent outside our region is monstrous. For the most part, it was really exciting meeting others.” 

“What was the other part?” 

“Other of what?” 

“The other—” Tsukishima sighed. “You said ‘for the most part.’ What did you not like about the training?”

Kageyama bit a chapped lip. Tsukishima tried to maintain eye contact. 

“Maybe I’m not actually that good?” 

He couldn’t help barking a laugh, an automatic response to what he thought was a joke. But Kageyama’s eyes were pinched, his lip turning white because he was biting it too hard.

“Oh, you’re being serious. Did someone tell you that? That you’re not good? Because you know that’s bullshit, right? _You know that.”_ Tsukishima shook their joined hands as if transmitting his thoughts through a tethered line. “If someone actually said that to you, it’s from jealousy or, you know, all-around dickishness. What the fuck kind of mind games are you all-stars inflicting on each other?” 

Kageyama rolled his eyes, which Tsukishima took as a good sign. “No one said that, really. It’s just hard to think of how I play and then see others and think—” 

Tsukishima waited but Kageyama seemed done with that thought. 

“See others and think—?”

Kageyama shook his head, unwilling to continue. Tsukishima was suddenly, acutely aware of how little he could feel his face anymore. He could acknowledge this wasn’t a good time to push. They were both off a long week of respective trainings and Kageyama had particularly traveled far. He needed to bide his time. Perhaps Kageyama was off put in the way people could be when tired. 

“Look, try not to take everything to heart, okay?” Tsukishima instructed. “And it’s okay to, you know, come back a little different. Different can be good.” 

Kageyama shrugged a noncommittal reply. Tsukishima debated calling it a night because he was also cold and tired and not his most sympathetic quite at that moment. 

“How about you?” Kageyama asked. “Are you different?” 

Tsukishima thought of roiling embarrassment, literally stumbling over his own feet, his fear realized that others clearly didn’t think he deserved to be where he was. 

_You were invited here for a reason. Don’t waste it._

“Yes and no,” Tsukishima replied.

Kageyama reached up, taking Tsukishima’s glasses in one hand, his other thumb pressing lightly at the ridge between his brows, gently rubbing as if to wipe away ink from his fingers. Tsukishima hadn’t realized he was grimacing.

“What’s that face for?” Kageyama said. 

Tsukishima felt too raw to be honest, so instead he asked, “Have you been doing a split step this whole time?”

He clearly hadn’t expected that. “Is that what you’ve been learning?” 

Tsukishima shrugged, not wanting to admit he learned something from Hinata.

“What, you haven’t been watching my feet this whole time?” Kageyama teased. 

“They’re not your defining feature, no.” 

“Hmm.” Kageyama looked at him, then away, affecting an air of indifference. “What is then?” 

“You’re, uh, defining feature?” He wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. 

“Sure.” It came across as casual, but it gave Tsukishima pause before he blushed unbidden. He knew what Kageyama was asking for. It was dark and no one was around, yet he felt a little shy. Initiating this kind of affection, blatantly expressing interest, was still hard for him. His rational brain could tell him that this was safe, _he_ was safe. He gave a mental kick at his anxious brain.

He took Kageyama’s hand that wasn’t already holding his glasses, idly drumming their fingers together. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling a long week. “You do have nice hands.” He really did. His hands were surprisingly slim for how strong he knew them to be. Incredible fine motor control for setting. Unexpectedly gentle on his face for how dour Kageyama often looked. 

“Good thing I have two of them,” Kageyama said, but continued watching him. 

Tsukishima slowly trailed his hand up Kageyama’s arm until he could burrow his hand beneath his scarf. “It’s not always easy to tell with what you wear, but you have broad shoulders.” He raised his other arm to loosely drape across those shoulders, could feel his traps tense and loosen. 

“That’s not a compliment, that’s just an observation.” 

He hummed, then lifted his hand to cradle Kageyama’s jaw. He felt the weight of it when Kageyama leaned into him. “Are we fishing for compliments then?” 

“No.” Kageyama’s cheek flashed heat beneath his palm.

Tsukishima kept a dark chuckle curled in his ribs. He rubbed a thumb along his cheekbone, then settled at the corner of his eye. Punctuating with gentle taps of his thumb, he said, “It has. To be. Your eyes.” 

He could feel Kageyama’s eyelashes when he blinked. “What?” He sounded unsure. 

“Your eyes,” he repeated. He was close enough he could see the blue in his irises. “It doesn’t matter what you’re saying, they give you away.” 

“Most people say I look too intense.” His mouth twisted. “Maybe a little scary.” 

“Maybe I like a little scary,” Tsukishima murmured. He went back to brushing the delicate skin around a midnight eye. 

“But that just means people don’t look at me, not really.” 

_Oh._

“Good.” Kageyama startled at that. Tsukishima leaned close until his lips brushed his ear. “It means if you feel someone watching, you’ll know it’s me.” 

Kageyama squirmed away and even the darkness couldn’t hide his blush. “Sometimes you just say things.” 

“Sounds more like an observation than a compliment,” Tsukishima said but allowed Kageyama to retreat. 

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Kageyama muttered. Tsukishima’s stomach clenched; he let himself sway back, arms dropping to his side. Kageyama frowned, then tipped forward into him. He raised his hand, hesitated, then touched Tsukishima’s cheek.

“Don’t look like that,” Kageyama ordered, voice rough, touch delicate. “You—you said maybe I’m different? If I’m different, then you have to be different, too. That’s how this works.” Tsukishima wasn’t sure if they were talking about volleyball or something else entirely.

“Oh?” Tsukishima gave in to the temptation to nuzzle into Kageyama’s hand, which had shifted to frame his jaw. Kageyama’s hands ran a lot warmer than his. 

“I know you,” Kageyama stated as if it were the simplest truth—perhaps it was. Tsukishima bit his lip nervously.

“What if I said I wasn’t fine?”

“Well, if you aren’t fine, then I’ll help you,” Kageyama said. “And if you’re _really_ not fine, then I’ll drop you off at Yamaguchi’s doorstep and make you someone else’s problem.” 

“My hero,” Tsukishima deadpanned but still pressed a kiss to the pulse in Kageyama’s wrist. 

Kageyama curled his fingers into Tsukishima’s hair, dragging him closer to smudge a kiss across his lips and up along his cheekbone. Tsukishima felt the drag of soft heat, allowing himself to fall into Kageyama, to be held under the lamplight. 

“Can we do this?” Tsukishima said quietly. He was and was not referring to Nationals. 

“Aren’t we already?” Kageyama murmured, leaning his cheek against his own. “Of course we’re gonna do it.” It was the most confident he’d sounded the whole night. 

But instead of feeling bolstered, Tsukishima felt a prick of insecurity in his side. He knew that Kageyama would be fine, no matter what thoughts he was rolling around in. But Tsukishima didn’t have the same confidence in himself, still trying to process all that had happened in just the last week. His team would be fine. Kageyama would be everything others could only hope to be. 

Tsukishima had already let himself down enough—all he could do was try not to drag others with him. 

__

Kageyama was _fatigued._

The time between the start of his training camp and Nationals itself coalesced so quickly he barely had time to think at all, let alone be nervous. He seemed to be one of the few people who had no uncertainty they would make it in. Once they were able to surpass Aoba Josai in qualifiers, he was sure they could beat Shiratorizawa. No one scared him the way Oikawa did. But when he saw the tears of joy and relief on his teammates’ faces, the astonishment of their success, he acknowledged he perhaps hadn’t fully appreciated how much they’d doubted themselves. If he could have stalwart conviction in their team’s victory, surely the others could have it, too. He had enough to spare. 

Kageyama was confident their team would succeed. He was confident because there was no other option—they weren’t going to Nationals to try it on for size, they were going to _conquer._ It didn’t matter that they were fallen elite; it just meant they were hungrier and had no fear of losing because they were already scrabbling at concrete. 

Tsukishima ribbed that it meant he wasn’t a particularly deep thinker, which was rude but also a little fair. It wasn’t that he didn’t think things through, it was more that once he’d made a decision, it could be difficult to dissuade him otherwise. Once he’d decided he wanted to be _the_ best setter, he’d trained until his fingers blistered. Once he’d decided he’d have to buckle down on his grades to ensure smooth sailing for upcoming trainings, he’d grabbed his most reluctant teammate and convinced him he was worth his time. And once he’d decided he _liked_ that reluctant teammate—well. 

The first years sat in a line in their bus, Kageyama and Tsukishima window partners to their respective friends as Yamaguchi and Hinata hung over their armrests into the aisle, laughing over something that didn’t hold Kageyama’s attention. He could tell they were getting closer to their destination when the roads thickened with traffic and pedestrians. He leaned past Hinata to better look out the opposite window. Yamaguchi glanced at him on reflex before turning back to Hinata who was just so _loud._ Kageyama couldn’t help but skim his gaze across Tsukishima’s face on his way out to the side. 

Tsukishima’s eyes were closed, headphones secured and glasses off, his shoulders curled in to eke out what room he could in too small of a seat. Kageyama was baffled, and somewhat envious, that Tsukishima had this impressive ability to fall asleep anywhere if they stopped long enough. It could be the bus, empty stadium seats in the back between matches, even against their gym wall. He could idly imagine Tsukishima during the coldest days at home, cocooned in fleece and blankets until nothing could be seen but his glasses and a thin wrist penciling down a homework assignment on the table. Kageyama drifted back to the road, their bus sluggish the more they delved into the city, then to Tsukishima, who was now staring back at him. He looked sleepy, eyes shot clear for how the sun reflected against them. 

Kageyama felt it hadn’t been long ago that he would have said nothing could obstruct his view of Nationals. But he couldn’t see forward without passing his teammates. He would have to shoulder past bright, competitive flare and a squawk of indignation. Kind eyes and endless patience. And salt-rimmed glasses belying a deeply thoughtful individual who somehow saw the best in him. 

They had just dropped their belongings at the unassuming lodging that would house their futons and gear and anxiety. Shortly thereafter, they had turned around to head to the stadium itself for registration and to get a feel of the place. This was a true test of fortitude and organization: Takeda and Kiyoko were responsible for now tumbling these boys into a train and pulling them back out at the right time. It shouldn’t be difficult, but even Kageyama could admit to feeling overwhelmed; Tokyo was just so much _bigger_ than anything he knew. 

Trains were trains, where the thick warmth of so many jostling bodies was a literal struggle. But even this, in some way, was exciting because it felt so adult to be taking a train in Tokyo to a nationally-renowned tournament—as one does. 

They were elbowing for position, teammates laughing and readily allowing the press of each other into their space, the easy camaraderie of it. Kageyama found himself propelled unceremoniously against the wall by Tanaka. He didn’t particularly care until Tsukishima’s back was shoved against his own. He looked over his shoulder the same time as Tsukishima, both of them sharing mutual commiseration. Kageyama was about to twist his body around, to angle his back but before he could get leverage, an arm shot past his right shoulder to bracket him against the wall. It took another beat for Kageyama to be acutely aware that Tsukishima turned first, that his chest was flush against his back, mouth near his ear. 

“Sorry,” Tsukishima apologized, “I didn’t want my back to you if you moved, but looks like I guessed wrong.” He could just barely feel Tsukishima’s lips graze his ear. It was an endearing sentiment. 

“It’s fine,” he replied, but he wasn’t sure Tsukishima could hear him in the din, especially when pitted against the easy half-yell Tanaka maintained in any given conversation. His senses were exploding—the humid air of too many bodies, the sharp chill of steel against his palms as he braced against the wall, the unbelievable heat of Tsukishima near-curled around him. 

The train lurched, everyone swaying with shuffling feet, and momentum dragged Tsukishima further into him, the arm by his face tensing while his other hand sought purchase by gripping his hip. Kageyama thought it was for the best that no one could see him. He almost wanted to press his face against steel, if only to cool his heated cheeks. He stared at the wall vacantly, truly for lack of anything else in his sight. Against the brushed steel he could see their faintest reflections, his dark hair a haze partially obscuring Tsukishima’s. In the harsh fluorescents, Tsukishima could have washed away if he weren’t so secured to Kageyama by fingers dug into the wingtip of his hip. Tsukishima’s breath was at his ear, the bend of body against his own. Kageyama wasn’t one to feel delicate but having Tsukishima draped around him was deeply comforting. 

It was not an environment conducive to conversation but someone like Tanaka was ever seldom deterred. 

“Does this all look familiar?” Tanaka asked, his head almost knocking into Kageyama’s own for how close they were. He didn’t have to tilt far to see how bright Tanaka’s expression was with unbridled excitement. He was still somewhat baffled when others casually engaged with him, like there was something he had worth sharing that wasn’t strictly related to volleyball. 

“Sure, some of it,” Kageyama allowed. He thought of leaving it there, a soft comment, but Tsukishima was unwittingly a bolster against him. “The stadium is unlike anything you’ve seen,” he offered because Sendai truly wasn’t the same. 

Tanaka’s sharp eyes alit, looking more pleased at the response than Kageyama expected. “Aw man, I can’t wait. It’s like, real, you know? They were recording us back home, do you think they’ll do the same here?” 

Kageyama was already nodding, surprised Tanaka was still talking to him. “This—it’s a big deal.” Tsukishima lightly bumped his head against him. He wasn’t sure if it was an accident or a silent response. He mulled over what Tanaka would most appreciate, what _he’d_ most appreciate. “Even at our level, they have commentators. Like a professional match.” Tanaka’s mouth dropped. 

“Holy shit, what? Really?” 

The corner of Kageyama’s mouth quirked. “Really.” 

The train pitched again, shuffling renewed, and Nishinoya gutted Tanaka with a bony elbow. “Get off me!” Tanaka griped, attention now focused elsewhere. Kageyama was surprised he missed it. 

Tsukishima’s weight pushed into him; he pushed back. Tsukishima nosed by his temple, asking, “What more is there to see, hotshot?” 

_Hotshot._ Kageyama started to turn his head to see him but stopped when Tsukishima’s mouth grazed his cheek. He furiously turned back to stare at their hands, Tsukishima’s spread near his own. “Shut up,” he muttered, but in concession moved his hand until his pinky linked with Tsukishima’s thumb. The fingers on his hip _tap-tapped_ in acknowledgement. 

By the grace of Takeda, Kiyoko, and all that was holy, Karasuno’s team was soon standing in the stadium’s pavilion, swarms of teams and families and reporters sifting around them like a river around its rocks. His teammates wore myriad expressions, running the full gamut of responses to something so momentous. Daichi stood aside with the managers and coaches, leaning over notebooks and gesturing to something on their phones. Suga and Nishinoya bracketed Asahi on each side, both punching his arms in excitement while the taller boy took the brunt of their enthusiasm. Hinata was chirping in his ear one minute, but when he turned to him, he was bent over dry heaving. Yamaguchi was rolling his eyes but gently patted Hinata on the back. 

Kageyama moved toward Tsukishima instead, a fair-haired pillar in the bright sea of schools’ tracksuits. Petal pink from the cold dusted his nose and cheeks, a pale visage atop a stark black uniform. Kageyama hadn’t realized he’d been staring until a hint of glare caught on one of Tsukishima’s lenses when he tilted his head. 

_And he’s mine._

“What?” Tsukishima asked.

For a second Kageyama was afraid he’d said that aloud. He shook his head, though it wasn’t a denial so much as a silent ‘nothing’ in response. “You ready?” 

Tsukishima snorted. “Probably not. I don’t have to ask if _you_ are.” 

“No, you don’t.” Tsukishima slanted him an impassive look. Sometimes Kageyama wished Tsukishima didn’t wear glasses, if only because it occasionally made it harder to read his eyes and frankly, he needed all the help he could get. 

Kageyama wasn’t a sentimental person, but it felt important in that moment to commit their surroundings to memory: the ice in his lungs, the cacophony of thousands of bodies radiating excitement, even just the stadium itself. They were here. _He_ was here. He hadn’t doubted it, truly. 

And yet. 

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Tsukishima admitted at his side, “And we haven’t even stepped inside yet. Everything just feels a bit much.” 

“Sure.” Kageyama figured Tsukishima would be inclined to put his headphones back on, sacrificing some ambiance for the sake of quiet. It really was a lot to take in. 

“Are you at all nervous?” 

Kageyama tried to suss an honest answer. “I don’t think so.”

“Unbelievable,” Tsukishima scoffed, but fondly. 

“Why, are you nervous? I thought you didn’t have feelings like that,” he teased, but Tsukishima’s shoulders stiffened. 

“I care about this, too, you know,” Tsukishima murmured.

“I’m not saying you don’t.”

“Aren’t you?” 

He wasn’t questioning Tsukishima’s motivation, more that he just wasn’t usually an emotive person about much of anything. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t come across as such. 

“You know I’m not,” Kageyama replied, frowning. “What’s going—"

“No, I know you—” Tsukishima cut himself off, then exhaled gustily. “I’m feeling edgy, bear with me.” 

Kageyama nodded an acknowledgement. He wanted to be comforting but he could readily admit it wasn’t his forte. “What, uh, advice would Yamaguchi give you right now?” 

Tsukishima crooked him a smile. “He’d tell me to get over myself.” He looked past Kageyama’s shoulder. “I mean, he’s right there, we could just ask him.”

Kageyama was already turning to grab Yamaguchi when Tsukishima yanked him back. “Wow, don’t actually ask him, you’re so _literal_ sometimes.”

“Get over yourself,” Kageyama said, but the words sat oddly on his tongue. 

But it startled a laugh out of Tsukishima. “Oh, well in that case.” 

“We’re moving now!” Takeda called out to the team, his voice cracking as he attempted to yell over everyone. Tsukishima stepped forward as if attached to a string that was Takeda’s voice. Kageyama breathed deeply before moving to follow. He didn’t try to catch up to Tsukishima’s side, instead allowing himself to drift behind. 

Kageyama both knew and didn’t know what was going on with Tsukishima. He knew that Tsukishima still harbored insecurities about his skills but didn’t know why they persisted when he was clearly so accomplished. He knew that Tsukishima liked to put up a front but didn’t know why he prided himself on such restraint. Sometimes it was okay for others to know how you were feeling. They had reached Nationals—wasn’t that sufficient evidence that he was talented? Well, perhaps it wasn’t as simple as that, but it could be if Tsukishima allowed it. 

Hinata suddenly careened into his side; he batted him away. If Tsukishima’s confidence came from winning, then he would ensure they were victorious again and again until there wasn’t anything left for Tsukishima to get over.

___

As soon as they’d won their first match—which was surprising to most everyone but Karasuno itself—they had to be shepherded into the next. No rest for the weary.

They were tucked into an alcove, one of many hidden nooks each school had to carve for themselves out of stadium bedrock. Teams fended for themselves when hunting for open electrical outlets. Kiyoko and Yachi had secured a corner of an off-beaten court, one which was primarily allocated for training but now served as their quasi-changing room and space for stretching. 

To date, Karasuno only ever had to wear black because other teams in their region didn’t have a comparable color scheme. Now, in the face of dozens of teams from across the country, they finally had an opportunity to showcase what few had seen. It was a novel adjustment having multiple jerseys, like they were actually an official team playing official matches. When Kiyoko pulled out eye-catchingly orange jerseys, several of his teammates went through a vocal succession of _cool!—why is it so orange—we’re officially an away team!_ Praise was particularly heaped upon Nishinoya’s jet black ensemble, a blot of ink seeping into a sunset field of nervousness and exhaustion. But all of them—Kageyama included—couldn’t help reverently tracing their numbers stitched into the back, real cloth in their hands, a tangible indication of where they were and who would be watching. 

Kageyama didn’t have strong feelings about the colors if only because it was meaningless, really. The only colors he truly cared about wearing were those of Japan, so until then, black and orange was just another chapter. Some people pulled off orange well enough, he supposed; Daichi, with his tanned, even complexion, was an example. Others, however—

“I can’t even see you anymore, you’ve just blurred into this technicolor nightmare,” Tsukishima grumbled, making a point of shielding his eyes from Hinata. 

Chest puffed in indignation, Hinata kicked at Tsukishima’s shin. “I look _awesome_ and you’re just jealous you can’t pull this off like I can. All people are gonna see is me!” 

“Exactly,” Tsukishima replied, “All they’ll see is you until their eyes start to bleed and then they’ll _die.”_

Hinata squawked. “Don’t be such a jerk just because you look terrible!”

Kageyama hoped Tsukishima wouldn’t ask him how he looked in orange because he couldn’t help but agree with Hinata that it wasn’t his color. Maybe it was the blonde hair or something about the shade of his eyes, but orange was not the most flattering on him. Kageyama preferred Tsukishima in dark, lean lines, not this bubbly pop of color that Hinata reveled in. 

“You just look like a fucking firecracker,” Tsukishima muttered, voice muffled when he pulled his black jersey off to replace it for now-abundant orange. Yamaguchi snickered at Hinata alongside, which still sometimes took Kageyama aback because Yamaguchi looked to be about the sweetest boy but it wasn’t a coincidence that he and Tsukishima were best friends, either. Kageyama was smoothing his hair down after pulling on his own jersey, turning to more fully join the conversation. 

Tsukishima was shirtless and Kageyama’s breath stuttered.

His shoulders were lightly dappled in freckles, only noticeable if you stood closely. Kageyama had been called out before for staring too hard, staring too long because once something was in his crosshairs, it was all he could see. So he knew he shouldn’t be staring at the long expanse of Tsukishima’s back like it had their opponent’s playbook written on it, but a small part of him wanted to believe that Tsukishima was someone he _could_ stare at because Tsukishima was the only one who would stare back. 

Tsukishima’s arms were caught in orange sleeves, his jersey handcuffing him to the front, which left an uninhibited view of his back and it went for ages. Maybe it was the way his arms were being pulled forward or perhaps this was how it always looked, but his back was long planes of muscle, bladed shoulders tapering to his lower back down to the waistband of his shorts and—

Kageyama snapped his eyes away because that wasn’t the kind of staring he could wave off if called on. Even with how cold Tsukishima ran, he knew that his skin could be hot to touch, that he only had to reach out and he could skate his hand along his spine until he could thread his fingers in his hair, pull him back, pull him down, but this wasn’t the time, _this wasn’t the time—_

But there was Tsukishima, letting his arms remain tangled while pretending he didn’t care what Hinata was saying next to him. He suddenly wanted to touch him so badly it physically ached, a pull in his stomach, and he hadn’t realized what he was doing until his palm was resting on the small of Tsukishima’s back. Tsukishima shot upright and Kageyama reveled in how his muscles shifted, an indication of how hard he’d be training, and how the breadth of his hand looked splayed across his flawless skin. 

He saw Tsukishima’s ears flush before he whipped his head back around, eyes narrowed. His sports glasses were gripped in one hand and Kageyama could scarcely breathe because Tsukishima was _beautiful_ and somehow he was _his._

Tsukishima’s face was a streak of blush bridging his nose, mouth slightly agape in surprise. “What the fuck are you doing?” Tsukishima demanded, though he squeaked enough to lessen the effect. 

“I wanted to touch you,” Kageyama said, mouth switching to autopilot. He could feel Tsukishima’s embarrassed groan reverberate down his back.

“You can’t just say that, you heathen,” Tsukishima whispered, twisting to dislodge his hand. Kageyama moved with him. He was distantly aware of Yamaguchi watching. 

“But what if it’s true?” 

Tsukishima made what Yamaguchi fondly called his _I think there’s a cat dying outside_ noise, a faintly strangled sound coming from the back of his throat. It usually only happened when Tsukishima was supremely mortified. Kageyama obligingly removed his hand with a small flourish.

“You're ridiculous," Tsukishima muttered, trying to put him off, but Kageyama liked it when his voice dipped low and brusque. 

“You’re cute when you’re like this,” Kageyama observed, full well knowing how much it irked him.

Tsukishima leaned down to eye level, annoyance pinching the corner of his eyes. “Sir, you’re neither funny nor charming in this moment, so keep it in your pants and go scare some hapless kids in the hallway or something.” 

But Kageyama so dearly liked him in that moment he couldn’t help following through, heedless of others around him when he reeled Tsukishima in by the back of his neck and kissed him.

 _Dude, c’mon, the game’s starting soon,_ someone laughed but Kageyama pushed up on the balls of his feet, mouth firm against Tsukishima’s, desperately wishing that he could impart how deeply he cared for him, how badly he wanted to be with him when he was kind and teasing or mouthy and sharp. He could’ve picked a better place, but to him there was no better time. 

He felt Tsukishima take a quick breath against his mouth, then press back and _oh shit we’re doing this here_ but Tsukishima kept pushing until he could wriggle his locked arms between then, using his elbows to dig into his stomach and herd him back. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Tsukishima hissed, though Kageyama was relieved to note he looked more flummoxed than angry. “I can’t believe you’re choosing now to pull some romantic crap on me.” 

“Oi, Kageyama!” Suga yelled, closer to him than he realized. “Are you giving everyone a kiss for good luck ‘cause if so, you should’ve started with your senpais.” Suga turned to Daichi, shaking his head piteously. “The youths these days are so disrespectful toward their elders.” 

Kageyama paused, took too long a beat to process before Tsukishima roughly pulled his jersey on and, in the process, stepped in front of Kageyama. “Please don’t use your Vice Captain voice for evil,” Tsukishima politely requested.

“Boys, settle, you better be warming up by the time I count to ten,” Daichi warned, which finally spurred their team into action, further comments stalling into muted sniggers. More quietly, Daichi muttered _Suga, quit your noise._

Yamaguchi walked by, giving Tsukishima then Kageyama a pitying pat on the shoulder, and said “Who would’ve thought you two would be such troublemakers.” And if Kageyama’s eyes were closed he would have sworn he just sounded like Suga himself. 

Tsukishima shouldered against him. “And what do you have to say for yourself now?” 

“You look better without your jersey on.” His first thought was that orange really did clash, but he realized how it came across when Tsukishima coughed on his next inhale.

When they moved to join the half-formed circle of their team stretching, Tsukishima kept his gaze ahead, but he also stayed at his side, so he’d take it. Stretching was an easy meditation he could fall into, similar to running. It took nothing for him to shut off parts of his brain in favor of anything physical. He often trusted his body more than he did his brain, reacting first and responding second. He also knew that this was a fundamental difference between him and Tsukishima, something which he could work on. He wouldn’t change who he was, but there was also value in trying something a little differently. 

Before they moved to practicing drills on the battleground itself, he found himself gravitating toward Tsukishima—his blonde, true north star. He waited until he caught Tsukishima’s eye, then tentatively raised a roll of tape. 

“Can I?” He thought it better to ask than just pull his hand toward him.

“I don’t know, _can_ you?” Tsukishima asked, then sighed. He held up his hand even as he said, “Go for it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama murmured, refusing to look anywhere but Tsukishima’s hand. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He methodically rolled tape up two fingers just shy of nail beds, then started again on his index. 

Tsukishima sighed again but kept his hand still. “I was just surprised mostly.” He made a considering hum. “I’m not embarrassed of you.” 

It hadn’t even occurred to Kageyama that that was the case, but his chest warmed all the same. “Just embarrassed by me?” As soon as he firmly pressed the tape’s edge to seal it, Tsukishima flipped his hand to grasp his own. He squeezed it hard enough that Kageyama finally looked up. He seldom saw Tsukishima look this serious.

 _“No.”_ Kageyama’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Just, pick a better place next time, okay?” Tsukishima gave a rueful laugh, a little brittle. “It’s not everyday someone like myself gets the attention of a nationally-ranked setter.” 

Kageyama frowned. “Stop it.” 

Tsukishima pulled his hand back as if burnt, as if that were the issue. “Stop what?”

“What’s gotten into you, pulling this woe-is-me bullshit,” he asked, baffled. 

At this, Tsukishima took a step back, eyes going blank. “Pretty dumb of me, isn’t it.” 

“That’s not what I said and you know it. You’re shutting off the further we get into this tournament. You’d think the more we win, the less you’d be like—” He waved a hand at him, “That.” 

Tsukishima mockingly waved his hand back. “Got it.” He turned and walked away toward the ball cart. 

Kageyama wanted to spin Tsukishima back around, but practice was tidying up to herald in the match itself. _I really do need to pick a better place._ But right now, he didn’t have time to think beyond that. No matter what else was happening in the world, once he set foot onto the court, everything else faded. Practice could only replicate so much of the experience. The game itself changed everything, charged electric with spectators and buzzers, cheer squads and yelling. He had words for Tsukishima, but they could wait until after they won.

Before Shiratorizawa, Tsukishima was a predictably solid teammate: smart, advantaged through long legs, a decent spiker. But when he allowed himself to grasp a leadership role, when he completely shut down Ushijima, his gameplay was _ruthless_. They all had the privilege of witnessing this transformation, this ownership of self. Kageyama couldn’t fathom why Tsukishima just couldn’t _get it._ Even if Tsukishima didn’t believe it, even if he and Kageyama never became friends, Kageyama could objectively conclude that Tsukishima’s skill and dedication were night and day compared to the start of the Miyagi Prefectural Qualifiers. He remembered half words caught between Tsukishima and Hinata about their training camp, what he’d endured with teammates not his own. Kageyama could trust that when he pushed Tsukishima, he would meet him in kind, that adrenaline would spur them both to be a little riskier, a little bolder. 

They were near the end of their final set and they needed to get this one under their belt. The score was tight but they had a slight gain if they just closed it. It wasn’t typically a time to try something new, but that also seemed to be one of their team’s guiding principles. They were all heaving bodies slicked with sweat. Their server sent a sharp curve to the corner but Nishinoya was already there, eyes cat-like in their intensity as he cleanly received. _End it with a quick,_ an easy piece to orchestrate. But the opponent knew well of it by now. He could play an oft-heard melody, a quick flick to Hinata, but if they only relied on what they knew, then nothing would change. In his dash forward, Kageyama made a point of catching Tsukishima’s eye, commanding his attention. It wasn’t subtle but it wasn’t supposed to be—it wouldn’t matter if the opponent read who the spiker would be. Kageyama shot his gaze up toward the ball, kissed it with fingertips, and made it _soar._

_If it’s height, we’ve got that, too._

Admittedly, for a beat, he worried that it was too much, perhaps too high—it was undoubtedly the highest he had ever set to Tsukishima. But there was a hard skid of shoes against hardwood and Kageyama could imagine any number of expletives going through Tsukishima’s head but he _met_ him, the lines of his body impossibly long stretching from taped fingers to toes. The blocker was caught by surprise, not having jumped high enough to accommodate. The ball shot past his fingers, hitting the court shy of their libero’s hand. 

Whistle. Set to Karasuno. 

Match to Karasuno. 

They were clambering over each other, tearing up in sheer joy. But Kageyama looked past his teammates to find Tsukishima already watching him, his grin sharp enough to catch in Kageyama’s stomach and leave a slice of heat. 

It wasn’t until they were standing off to the side, breathing heavily while allowing the next two teams to scurry around them onto the court, that Kageyama’s brain could restart. Residual adrenaline thrummed in his veins. His teammates around him were slowly shedding their own heightened energy, some laughing giddily in disbelief, others wearing a soft, tired smile. Tsukishima stood slightly apart, which in itself was not too unusual, but his body was a live wire. Whoever he’d been at the end of the match must have stayed on the court because this Tsukishima was nonplussed. He carefully sidled up next to him, minutely encouraged when Tsukishima didn’t lean away. 

“You don’t look like someone who just won,” he said. 

“I’m happy,” Tsukishima replied, voice flat. 

“Why are you lying?” He wondered why Tsukishima wasn’t more elated. Had he _not_ been a part of that killer spike that sealed their win? 

“I’m not.” 

Kageyama felt a dredge of annoyance slowly surface; a win didn’t sit as sweetly when someone wouldn’t meet you partway for that feedback loop of elation. “Why are you lying?” He repeated. 

Tsukishima blinked at him as if he just now joined the conversation. “I can’t believe you tried pulling that off,” he said, “You knew it would’ve been unlikely I got it.” 

Kageyama should have left it there. But he was still riled from their last conversation, from all those previous conversations, still felt his fingers shake as they came down from the win. Because Tsukishima hadn’t just _tried_ something, he had _done_ something and how could it be so hard to sit in even the little victories? He scraped for words in the dark but couldn’t find them, so he desperately looked for something Yamaguchi might have said to him instead—Tsukishima always took Yamaguchi’s words to heart. 

He thought of a saying he’d heard once, something about who fortune favored, but he didn’t trust that he’d remembered it correctly. 

“If you want to talk about something unlikely, we should talk about Yamaguchi,” Kageyama said.

Fortune favored a little recklessness, probably.

Tsukishima tilted his head in confusion. “Uh, what about him?” 

Kageyama took a deep breath to brace himself. He leaned in to pitch his voice low. “At what point is he going to realize he’ll always just be a benchwarmer?”

Tsukishima whipped his neck around so quickly he must have wrenched it. “What?”

Kageyama forced himself to nod in confirmation as he watched players and families walk by. He couldn’t look at Tsukishima. “Let’s be real. He’s a middling pinch server who can’t receive. He probably couldn’t even make a college team. I know he’s your best friend, but c’mon. Volleyball? I mean, who is he kidding?” 

“What are you saying?” Tsukishima asked, strangled. 

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, surely you must feel the same way,” His voice trailed into a whisper, like they were sharing a secret. “I won’t tell him, I promise.” He knew what he was doing, _he knew was he was doing—_

“I can’t even right now,” Tsukishima snarled. He grabbed Kageyama’s wrist, yanking him away from the group until they rounded a corner. His stomach cramped so hard he hunched in a little despite himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Are you telling me I’m wrong?” Panic settled at the base of his throat. He’d seen Tsukishima look at him with disdain, with annoyance, with surprise, with affection, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing him stare back with such hurt. This was beyond miscommunication they’d suffered in the past—he was being purposeful and it showed in the way Tsukishima’s mouth trembled. 

But he couldn’t stop or the damage would be irreparable. 

“Of course he’s not just a benchwarmer,” Tsukishima bit out, “You know he tries harder than anyone and has gotten so much better since we started here. Who the fuck are _you_ to say otherwise?” He punctuated this with a bruising finger into Kageyama’s chest. Kageyama wanted to bite it off. 

“You’re right,” Kageyama snapped. “Who am I to say? No matter his skill level, he loves the sport and he’s proud of what he’s done.” Kageyama slapped Tsukishima’s hand away. “He plays for himself regardless of how others view him. Isn’t that enough? Shouldn’t that be enough for him to stand here with the rest of us?” 

_“Of course it is!”_

“So if it’s enough for him, can’t it be enough for you, too?” 

Tsukishima reared back. “What?” His eyes were hard, fingertips of one hand drumming at his side in agitation.

He suspected he was doing this all wrong but he was too deep in it now. “Look, this isn’t about Yamaguchi—I don’t actually think those things about him, I’m not a monster.” He clenched his fists to his side, the words tripping out of him the more frantic he felt. “I’m just trying to make a point. I want to talk about how you won’t let yourself be proud of what you’ve accomplished.” 

“I’ve never said that,” Tsukishima said. He looked a little wild behind the eyes and Kageyama hated that he was the cause behind it. 

“You’re _always_ saying it, in some way. We’ve had these conversations. It’s little things. You should be ecstatic right now after winning a match. But you know what feels shitty? When you’re excited about something and someone brings you down because they can’t be happy. Sometimes I want to shake you and sometimes I want to hug you and right now I honestly don’t know which one. I’m definitely feeling something.” 

Tsukishima tried to step away again but he wouldn’t let him go far. Kageyama hoped that Tsukishima wouldn’t actually leave because he wasn’t sure he could find his way back out on his own.

“You should be happy we won.” Tsukishima was muted, careful. “I don’t mean to take that from you.” Kageyama could scarcely focus, he was so frustrated that he wasn’t getting it—until he saw Tsukishima was crying. Tsukishima seemed to realize it at the same moment, fingers bumping into his glasses on reflex to catch tears. He reached up to roughly rip off his glasses, leaving him with hair tousled and a red indent slashed beneath his eyes. 

“Oh,” Tsukishima said faintly. 

“Oh,” Kageyama replied, his chest tight. “That’s not what I was aiming for. Go back to being angry.” 

Tsukishima chuckled wetly, scrubbing at his face, then pressed his hands to his eyes and choked on his neck inhale. 

“No, stop,” Kageyama pleaded, taking Tsukishima’s wrists in hand to drag them away from his face but he resisted. Tsukishima tried to pull away altogether, shaking his head, but Kageyama didn’t take much time weighing his options. Once Tsukishima was crowded against the wall, he used Tsukishima’s second of surprise to slip one hand under Tsukishima’s own and the other to pull down a wrist. His cheek was damp and fever-hot against his palm. Tsukishima spent so much of his time aiming for aloof and mature, that with tears spilling into their joined hands and chest hitching with struggled breaths, he was ripped open. 

Kageyama thumbed away a tear gathered at the corner of his eye, guilt churning in him. He gathered him in, one arm securing around his waist and the other threading through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Tsukishima hiccupped. 

“No, I’m—shit, I don’t know what I’m doing.” That was the most honest Kageyama felt this entire time. Tsukishima made some noise he didn’t know how to interpret, but he also leaned into him so he tightened his arms as much as he comfortably could. Kageyama pressed his lips to his temple, could taste the salt on his skin. “This was going to go differently in my head.” 

Tsukishima shuddered. “What—what the hell was your plan?” 

“I don’t know, not this,” he admitted. “I just wanted to be like, ‘You’re amazing’ and have you say ‘I know’ with that stupid smirk you get when you think you’ve won an argument.” 

Tsukishima was a heavy weight against him. “I always win our arguments.” 

He patted the back of his head gently. “Get over yourself.” 

Tsukishima went ramrod. “There’s—wait—” he stuttered, “About Yamaguchi—” 

Kageyama froze in panic, saying in a rush, “None of it was true, I promise.” It was important to him that Tsukishima knew this, too. “I respect him as a teammate and—” The words felt rusted for how seldom he got to use them, “He’s my friend. Please believe me.” 

Tsukishima leaned back just far enough to search his eyes for a long moment, his breath ghosting his lips. “I do. Believe you, that is. Otherwise—” He kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’d kill you and they wouldn’t find your body.” 

“That’s fair.” 

Tsukishima tilted forward until he was whispering words against his lips. “Just—I don’t know what I’m doing either. Will you—” But he clicked his tongue and stopped. 

“Will I what?” 

“Will you…wait for me?”

Kageyama huffed a laugh, dizzy with relief, then pressed up catch his bottom lip with his teeth, a quick nip. “Where else would I go?” 

___

Tsukishima wondered if their classmates back home understood how unexciting it was to stay away for a tournament. 

Nationals itself was thrilling in every sense. No amount of sitting in the stands or watching professional matches bent over a laptop screen could prepare him for it, how they could be surrounded by a whole stadium of people but on the court everything was bright white and blurred at the edges. It was deafening but hard to distinguish what was being said. 

There were certainly some elements that were akin to a sleepover, but their back-to-back matches were grueling and by the time they’d had dinner and sloughed off their fatigue in the baths, there wasn’t much left to function. So by the time the four first-years finally made their way back to their sleeping quarters, their older teammates had arranged and rearranged everything to their liking, futons already bedraggled for not yet having been slept in.

Tsukishima already had a plan in mind for how his night would go—a familiar practice of tucking himself away, headphones firmly in place to drown out his peers. He wasn’t avoiding people so much as protecting himself. He was the kind of person that the more he interacted with others, the less he had left for himself. While others thrived around more and more people, Tsukishima felt drained. It was an odd crux, to recognize what worked best for self-care and also—the tiniest bit, perhaps—feel left out because of it. But after playing two brutal matches in a row, he’d already given the best of himself. All that was left was like freshly scrubbed skin after a bath—raw and tender to the touch. 

With headphones firmly affixed, he spent some time scrolling through his phone, idly double-tapping his thumb on photos or comments, but soon after he just closed his eyes and listened, fingers drumming against his thigh. He had eclectic tastes to fit his moods, his tracks shifting if he wanted to psych himself up or self-soothe. 

Right now, he dearly wanted his mind to shut up. 

It was stupid to get worked up over a game that had yet to happen. He blinked a few times to clear the blur, then sat up once he realized several of them were still awake, if softer in approach. A few of them were studying, Nishinoya passed out with limbs akimbo, the other second-years crowded around Ennoshita’s phone as they watched some video. He pulled his headphones off to rest around his neck but didn’t reach for his glasses, letting himself sit with sight soft-edged. Everything felt a little surreal as such. When he blindly reached back for his glasses, his hand came back shaking. Something in him moved, a darker susurrus coiling around his throat, speaking through him that he should be worried, he should just go to bed, he should just read something, he should just _do_ something—

“Tsukki.” 

Tsukishima focused on Yamaguchi, who looked up at him from where he was lying on his stomach, a dog-eared book flopping into itself. 

“What?” Tsukishima asked, pressing his glasses into his lap to force his hands to stop trembling. 

“You okay?” 

“Yes,” he replied. His tone was duller than he intended. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Then why are you asking?” He wasn’t why that made him feel sharp around the edges. “Sorry.” He saw Yamaguchi tilted his head but he had difficulty reading his expression.

“So snippy,” Yamaguchi sighed. “At least pick a different playlist because whatever you’re listening to isn’t helping.” 

He needed to just lay back down, just close his eyes, but all he could feel was the press of his teammates around him, Yamaguchi still watching him. “I’m going to get something to drink,” he said, fumbling to get his glasses back on. He was already up and heading toward the door before he made the conscious decision. 

“—kishima, where are you going?” He thought he heard Daichi behind him but he couldn’t stop.

He blindly stalked the dimly lit hallway until he ran into a dead end, then turned until he saw balcony railing. He wasn’t panicking, he just needed a moment without anyone watching. He just needed—well, he didn’t know what he needed. He wasn’t overly demonstrative on a good day so it felt safer to sort himself without scrutiny, no matter how well-meaning. 

The balcony’s wood railing snagged his palms, roughhewn and cool in the night air. Tsukishima gripped it tighter, wanting just enough dig of pain to ground himself, keep himself focused. He kept his gaze sightless toward the street instead of at Yamaguchi coming up beside him.

“You didn’t have to follow me,” Tsukishima said, suddenly regretting not bringing a jacket. 

“I know,” Yamaguchi replied, leaning next to him. He took a deep breath just to watch it mist in front of him. “You want to talk about it?” 

Tsukishima didn’t know how to articulate this heavy weight sitting in him, so he said, “I’m thinking about our game tomorrow.” 

“Ah, okay.” 

“That’s it?”

Yamaguchi scrunched his eyebrows at him. Tsukishima scoffed. 

“You picked a terrible place to be moody,” Yamaguchi continued, “I can tell you’re freezing, so either come back inside or get on with it.” 

Tsukishima side-eyed him. Yamaguchi stared back, ever guileless. 

“Would it kill you to say you’re nervous?” Yamaguchi asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, _I’m_ nervous.” Yamaguchi bumped his shoulder, then swayed back. 

Tsukishima white-knuckled the railing. “I want to win,” he murmured, afraid to voice it at full volume, that somehow the louder it became the more real it was. 

“Yeah, me too.” Yamaguchi sighed heavily. “Are you, what, nervous that you’re not gonna be good enough?” 

“I didn’t say I was nervous.” 

“You know the team relies on you,” Yamaguchi offered. 

Tsukishima groaned. “How would that possibly make me less nervous?”

“Oh, so you _are_ nervous—”

“You know what, it’s cold out here, I’m heading back in—”

“Do you think people are going to watch our game?” 

That gave Tsukishima pause. “What?”

“What would happen if people saw you playing in tomorrow’s game?” Yamaguchi leaned over the railing to watch a few pedestrians cross the street, tone light and easy. Casual. 

Tsukishima knew it was a well-rehearsed ruse. “The fuck kind of riddle is this?”

“Tsukki.”

“They’d…see me play.” Tsukishima replied slowly. 

“Exactly,” Yamaguchi said, catching his eye to give him a resolute nod like that in itself was a sufficient answer. 

“I honestly don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“Now, I could be wrong,” Yamaguchi started, which always indicated he most certainly wasn’t wrong, “But I think you don’t want people to see you play and think ‘That guy? What’s he doing at Nationals?’ Because that’s scary and then you have to admit you _do_ care and that hurts. _Or_ you could pretend that you don’t care because it’s way worse to be torn apart for something you care about and failed at, right?” He flapped a hand at him. “I mean, that’s just a thought.” 

Tsukishima forced his fingers to unlatch from the railing, hated that they were still shaking. “If that were true, _if,_ how could anyone overcome that?” 

Yamaguchi shrugged, then laughed a bitter little thing. “You need to find a way to move forward even when they cut you down, to show that no matter what they say, you know you’re just, _more_ than that. So let’s say that you, I don’t know, play and you totally suck, what’s the worst that could happen.” 

“I die,” Tsukishima replied automatically. 

_“Tsukki.”_

Tsukishima took a couple steps back toward the hallway, feeling the urge to check if anyone happened to be around, unlikely as it was, then returned to the railing. Yamaguchi kindly said nothing of it. 

“People realize how pathetic I am for caring when I’m no good,” he finally murmured. 

Yamaguchi squinted at him, then tilted his head in consideration. “You know for a while, when we were kids, I used to be afraid of you.” Tsukishima had known this, had even used it to his advantage at the time, but it stung to hear it for its truth. “Don’t get me wrong, I liked you, but I also resented you? You were just so—confident isn’t the word. I don’t know, let’s just say ballsy. You were a ballsy little shit when we were kids.” Yamaguchi gave him a onceover. “Not too much has changed.” 

“Alright—” 

“So I already know the worst parts of you—” Tsukishima grumbled at this “—And I’m the only one who has seen you on both sides of your brother so I’m going to be honest with you: I like this version of you so much more because you _know_ how hard it is to be happy and to work for it anyway.” 

Tsukishima mulled that over. “Huh.” 

“Yeah.” Yamaguchi shook his head at him, looking placid as ever. Tsukishima could admit he was losing feeling in his fingers, that the ache in his right hand was more noticeable, but it somehow didn’t feel like the right note to end it on, that Yamaguchi was always comforting and never asked for anything in return. 

“You know,” Tsukishima allowed himself to bump Yamaguchi’s shoulder, “It’s annoying how good a captain you’re going to be.” 

Yamaguchi squeaked. “What?”

“You heard me.” 

“You can’t just _say_ that, you don’t have to be nice to me,” Yamaguchi said, which was a bittersweet sentiment because of how truthful it was. 

“Too late.” He brought his hands up to his mouth to blow on them. Any physical discomfort he had needed to take a back seat. 

“Well now you’re just trying to be nice after I kicked a man while he’s down.” 

Tsukishima hummed a non-reply because that was never truly Yamaguchi’s intent. “You know what I think when I look at you?” 

“Please don’t tell me—” 

“—Is how lucky I am to have a friend as cool as you are.” Tsukishima felt heat suffuse his cheeks but could swear he heard Yamaguchi’s jaw click shut. “You shouldn’t have been friends with me when we were kids, I didn’t do anything to deserve you. I can be really shitty.” For some reason, it didn’t burn quite as much to say it, not if he owned it himself. 

“That’s not why I brought that up—” 

“But you have this…unerring ability to see the good in other people, not just for who they are, but also what they can do.” He heard what suspiciously sounded like a sniffle from Yamaguchi but it was also cold so what did he know. “So you know, tomorrow? People are going to see you. And if we win tomorrow, it’ll be because of you, too.”

Yamaguchi leaned over to press his face into his shoulder for a moment, then stepped back, scrubbing his hand across his face. 

“I think we can make that work.”  
___

When Kageyama watched something or someone, for however long those moments, it was his whole world. Perhaps it came from a nature which was so singularly focused that it was easy to shut out his surroundings. He would commit details to memory until they were scored in his brain. It lent itself well to setting—the minutiae of countless factors coalescing into a single action. His was a coveted position because it had the potential to be anything but was prized for one talent that few others readily possessed. He was _proud_ of what he could accomplish on the court. He was not only doing something he loved, he was also _good_ at it. 

Kageyama was an impeccable control tower. 

The job of the tower was to direct, to advise on best courses and flight conditions and clearing the runway. If his teammates just listened to him, their trip would have minimal turbulence. What he hadn’t realized for a long time was that if he only ever transmitted, there was no way for him to receive a response. The tower stood alone amongst those who flew untethered, always watchful but a different creature altogether. 

_A king. A dictator. A goody two-shoes. There and back again._

He’d had a hard time striking a balance in gameplay, vacillating between controlling and concerned, aggressive and appeasing. His current style was borne from trial-and-error mixed with a fear of abandonment. 

_Was it possible to both want and dread being noticed?_

Objectively, _objectively_ he knew he was a skilled athlete. He made setting look easy to bystanders because he worked hard to make it so. But with that came expectations as well, when he _didn’t_ want that scrutiny, when shame clawed up his throat because everyone could see how terrible he might actually be. He had to hold it together, pretend he always knew what he was doing because his feet were sinking as others pushed off from his shoulders, pushing him down so they could pull themselves higher. He could be sharper, be better, just go a little faster and he’d cover for them, he could be that person because if he couldn’t do that he couldn’t do anything—

Kageyama was used to being alone. 

They were at the brink of their next battle, evermore harrowing because no one but themselves could fathom that they’re _still here,_ like they were a charity case that somehow got past the front door. They both were and were not supposed to be there. Some families had chosen to see the team off before this pivotal match as if wishing their loved ones safety and good health when boarding a ship to reaches unknown. 

For the most part, their families didn’t attend matches. For ones held during a weekday, it made sense that they all couldn’t find someone to fill a shift or pop in around college courses. Moreover, it was a trek from Miyagi to Tokyo. For those who couldn’t be present, a slew of well wishes stood in their stead. 

But for some, arrangements had been made. The Hinatas were glaringly obvious with their bright red hair, faces awash with sunburst grins. Hinata’s little sister, Natsu, was perched on her mother’s hip, brown eyes wide in delight. There was a shorter gentleman with glasses who stood with Ennoshita, patting him congenially on the back. Saeko, as always, was their loudest supporter. She had none-too-gently elbowed Tanaka in the ribs while softly ruffling Nishinoya’s hair; Nishinoya looked up at her in adoration. Shimada and Akiteru were standing by Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, all of whom were smiling except Tsukishima himself, who wore one of his shades of indifference. 

There were others, there were more. People who he didn’t know, but some he could make an educated guess based on their resemblance. 

Even if Kageyama hadn’t met Akiteru previously, it wasn’t difficult to figure out his relation. Ubiquitous ballcap in place, hands casually slung in the pockets of a bomber jacket, Akiteru exuded infectious enthusiasm alongside Shimada, both of whom were rallying Yamaguchi and Tsukishima to varying effects. Yamaguchi was a little wild-eyed, wringing his hands together. Kageyama wasn’t sure if the slight flush was from anxiety or due to Yachi standing nearby, her soft face alight with fierce determination. Tsukishima looked uninterested, but when Akiteru draped an arm over his shoulders like a mantle, he didn’t budge him off. No one in that group was as subtle as they thought they were. 

Kageyama peered at Tsukishima more closely. He wondered if he tacked another five years onto him that he’d physically look more like Akiteru. Tsukishima was already taller than Akiteru—which by virtue essentially meant he was the tallest of all of them—and was likely slated to be even taller before they graduated. But would his face lean out the same way? If he were to, say, wear contacts all the time, would perceived differences be less noticeable? He supposed it was irrelevant; Tsukishima was, to him, already painfully attractive and neither age nor any other factor would change his mind. 

He was so intent in dissecting Tsukishima’s looks that he startled when someone put a hand on his shoulder. He was even more surprised to see that hand attached to Akiteru, amiable as always. Kageyama reflexively looked back over his other shoulder as if he had somehow made a mistake and was looking for someone else. When he turned back, Akiteru graced him with an amused curl of a smile. 

“Yes, I’m looking at you,” he stated, as if replying directly to Kageyama’s thoughts.

“Uh, hi.” Kageyama was both too polite and too awkward to ask what he was doing here without his brother in tow. 

“Hi,” Akiteru echoed, never once looking anything but friendly. “How’re you feeling? Nervous? Excited? About to throw up?” He made a faint gesture to his own stomach. 

“Not really, no.” 

“Man, I’d be quaking in your position,” he said, and even Kageyama could tell he had a pinched look about his eyes that belied apprehension. “I guess it helps you’re one of the reliable ones on your team.” 

“I guess.” For the life of him, Kageyama struggled to string two words together around normal humans when put on the spot. 

Akiteru cast his eyes over their motley crew of teammates and family, then back to Kageyama. “Do you have family here?” 

“No,” Kageyama said. It was a simple answer because it was always the answer. But Akiteru didn’t give him the pitying look he’d seen from others when asked the same question, like he was somehow lesser off without the support. Maybe he was, but he had become so accustomed to it he hardly noticed anymore.

“Okay,” Akiteru acknowledged with the casualness of noting _why yes, it indeed is raining outside._ “I guess it falls on me to wish you the best of luck.”

“That’s not necessary—” 

“Sure it is,” he replied easily, “You’re like, family-adjacent at this point.” He then turned to take him by the shoulders, hunching slightly to make eye contact. His grip was tight. 

“You got this,” Akiteru said, his tone serious in a way Kageyama had never heard before. It was deeper and reminded him that he was actually an adult. “You’re a rock for this team, but you’re not the only one. It’s a _team_ and you win and lose as a team, not as a person.” Akiteru shifted to look out at his teammates but his hands didn’t leave his shoulders. He swiveled back, a blinding smile on his face, the kind that caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners. “Well, my word doesn’t really mean anything, but I said it to Kei so I’ll say it to you— 

"I’m proud of you.” 

He didn’t need these words and deliberately, perhaps too proudly, didn’t actively seek them out. Kageyama blinked hard, feeling a sudden burn behind his eyes. 

“What’s going on?” Tsukishima had come around Akiteru’s side. Kageyama glanced up at him and saw Tsukishima’s eyes widen in surprise. He could still feel a hint of salt in his eyes. 

Akiteru gave a weak laugh. “Just pumping him up, it’s game time.” 

Tsukishima turned to his brother, brow furrowed. “What the hell kind of pep talk are you giving?” He turned to Kageyama. “Whatever he said, don’t listen to him. You know he’s full of shit.” 

“Would you listen to this guy?” Akiteru directed this at Kageyama, sticking a thumb out at Tsukishima. He had a conspiratorial smile in place. His eyes also looked a little wet. “He tries to talk a big game but he’s all soft inside.” He reached up to tweak Tsukishima’s cheek like he was a small child; Tsukishima batted it away, blushing furiously. 

“Ugh, whatever, fine,” Tsukishima said, embarrassment trumping his concern. 

Akiteru leaned in, bussing a smacking kiss to Tsukishima’s cheek, knocking his hat askew. “I’m so proud of you, baby boy!” 

“Gross,” Tsukishima hissed, but Kageyama saw him tug the hem of Akiteru’s shirt in acknowledgement. 

“Okay, I have to go!” Akiteru declared. “Gotta get the best seats in the house to watch you, you know, win all the things. No big deal.” He gifted Tsukishima a smile, then gave Kageyama an affectionate pat on the cheek. 

“Dude, are you ready for this or what?” Saeko called out, standing near Shimada. Akiteru already had his back to him when he came up to Saeko, returning her request for a high-five. “Boys, you got this!” She yelled to them, pumping her arms. The team gave a rousing cheer in return. 

It all sounded underwater to Kageyama, who stared sightlessly at the floor in front of him. His eyes teared up, but not from sadness or fear. He thought he now understood the notion of his heart feeling fit to burst, it was so full. The voice whispering to him that he didn’t need this quietened. 

He didn’t need this support, but his life was all the richer for it. 

“Seriously, are you okay?” Tsukishima asked, tugging at the elastic strap holding his glasses in place. 

“I think, I—” Kageyama couldn’t mouth the words. He didn’t know how to translate the tightness in his lungs. 

Tsukishima was then in his space, gently knocking their foreheads together. Kageyama could feel his glasses dig in but couldn’t be bothered. 

“You got this,” Tsukishima murmured, words for him alone. “You got this, we got this, okay? I believe in you, I—” He broke off, clearing his throat. 

Kageyama blindly reached out to take his hands in his own, squeezing his sentiment across. 

“We got this.”  
___

Tsukishima took a deep breath, then another, but it wouldn’t quite catch in his chest. The pressure, the roar, the adrenaline singing in his veins. A bubbling feeling not unlike laughter welled in his throat, but nothing was funny. 

They were on the cusp of battle and their arena was center court, which meant _everyone was watching them._ He picked at the edge of his tape, a nervous habit of which he wouldn’t speak aloud. Every time he thought he’d sufficiently recalibrated his expectations of Nationals, they somehow managed to do something ridiculous like _win_ and then everything heightened all over again. 

Technically speaking, part of their winning streak relied on the fact that no one seemed to quite predict their strategy—which, of course, was because they usually didn’t have one. They had developed plays and routes, quicks and tricks, but they also had an unfailing ability to make up strategies on the fly. 

Rivals would suggest their changeability in gameplay was helter-skelter from sheer lack of experience. They tried to pin them down like butterflies to a board, that their identity had to be immutable because it felt as such for other high school teams: they should be known for total defense or total offense, spiking or blocking. For some reason, they had to be known for something that other schools would point to and say, “Oh that’s Karasuno, they’re really good at _that one thing.”_

But Tsukishima was finally allowing himself to embrace Karasuno’s truth, one that could be his as well. Their gameplay was fierce and their strategy indecipherable because they _simply didn’t care what others thought of them._ The laughter was perhaps quieter now, but most still saw Karasuno as beneath them, as a team clinging to their country trash bins and raucously cawing for attention. Karasuno should be forever grateful for that summer training opportunity in Tokyo because it was the safe space for them to fail for days on end. They had flailed and fallen over themselves, collecting strategies like a crow would collect shiny baubles for its nest. Like true crows, what they wanted, they kept. 

And crows never forgot. 

So Tsukishima could never forget in those moments who was around him: Yamaguchi, with brows furrowed, practicing jump serves; Kageyama stoically nodding along to something Suga was trying to animate with his fingers. At some point Hinata sidled up to him, who predictably but terrifyingly had evolved into some spitfire demon, all unblinking eyes and a mouth full of canines. When Hinata looked up at him, Tsukishima wasn’t sure of the tug in his cheeks until he realized he was giving a razor grin in return. 

And in that moment he realized: Hinata had always looked at him this way, had stared him down as a rival and teammate alike, but he was willfully blind to it. Tsukishima had made the journey harder on himself than needed—and would continue to do so because whispered thoughts don’t fully dissipate into the ether—but the view from the top was divine.

They were at the cusp of battle and it was _intoxicating._

Holding Hinata’s gaze, Tsukishima found himself asking, “Want to go fuck them up?” 

And without missing a beat, Hinata nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so very grateful for everyone who's stuck with me thus far. Even just knowing one person has read this means the world to me. I always appreciate feedback and love how it inspires me to dabble in something new. Thank you for reading!


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